Frodo and Merry ran out into the pouring rain, howling with laughter.
Water streaked down Merry's face in visible rivers, washing away streaks
of the flour that coated his entire body. But after three days locked up
due to rain, and the threat of impending punishment within, Merry welcomed
any kind of weather, as long as it was outdoors. They finally collapsed
into one of the muddy gardens, just missing a puddle that was starting to
resemble the Brandywine in size. "Well," Frodo laughed," with any luck,
Brandy Hall has a new ghost to haunt its wings. I believe your story may
live out my own"
Merry beamed proudly at his cousin. This had, after all the first expedition of his very own plan. He was the one who decided to raid the pantries. True, he hadn't known that the unreadable bag he had grabbed contained flour, and not some secret treat of such magnitude that it had to be kept a secret, but really that was an honest mistake. And, as it turns out, one that left many options open for the rest of the day.
For while Merry was kicking the bag, and generally being angry about his bad luck (the bag had been such a hassle, and turned out to be nothing!), Frodo had disappeared, and returned with as many handkerchiefs as he could find. While Merry watched in utter fascination, Frodo dipped one of the handkerchiefs into the flour, and tied a small amount in. He continued to do this with all the other handkerchiefs he had piled next to the bag, until Merry's curiosity finally burst.
"What are those for?" he asked. Frodo smiled, and threw one of the flour balls at him. It imploded as it contacted Merry's shirt, leaving a large, white mark on his front. This demonstration was enough of an explanation for Merry, as young boys and messy substances rarely need much acquaintance to become fast friends.
"So, who do you propose we use our new weapons on?" Frodo asked, as Merry picked up his share of the flour bombs excitedly.
"I suppose we could wait on one of the stairs and catch people going in and out of the cellar." Frodo shook his head. "Far too difficult, trust me. There's no proper place to hide around there."
"Well... what about the rafters of the stables?"
"There's no one in the stables. Besides, the whole point is to stay indoors, remember?"
Merry sighed. "Well, then I can only think of one other thing." So saying he hurled one of the flour bombs at Frodo's head. "Take that, you filthy troll!" he screamed, then ducked to find a hiding place behind one of the chairs in the sitting room they had found themselves in.
Frodo chuckled. "Oh, so that is how we're playing. Very well..." and he adopted his most troll like position, gave a terrific roar, and pelted Merry with another flour bomb.
The boys continued with their game for a long while, occasionally calling truces to fill up their handkerchiefs with flour. Finally they reached the bottom of the bag, and were again searching for entertainment. This time they decided on a grand quest around the Hall, or the newly dubbed "Brandywine Mountains". Being, of course, big fans of Bilbo's tales, both boys were of the firm conviction that a good adventure would invariably have mountains in it. So that was how it happened that somewhere around the Pass of Musty Old Things (Merry was quite fond of his naming skills), Frodo pulled his companion down among some boulders. Other travelers seemed to be passing by, and there were no guarantees that they were of the friendly variety. They could barely make out the odd tongue and foreign accent, but it sounded strangely like Merry's mother calling him for luncheon.
"Well, my friend," Frodo said in a stage hero voice, making Merry giggle. "Methinks it time to venture home. What say you?"
"Methinks what youthinks, cousin." This sent Frodo to the floor laughing.
"Well then, let us return home, and you can change out of your war stained clothing." Merry seemed to take the worst of the Great Flour War. While Frodo sported the occasional white patch, Merry was covered, head to toe, in the sticky powder. He got up off the floor of the storage closet they had hidden in. But as he did so, two things happened. A bright flash of green tinged lightning lit the room, and the door to the closet opened. There stood his mother, looking terrified. Her mouth began to move, but no sound came out. "Mother?" Merry said. "What's wrong?" Finally, a loud shriek pierced the room, and Esmeralda ran down the corridor.
Without even a word to each other, the two curious young hobbits followed Merry's distraught mother back to the rooms she and her family stayed in, where she started pounding on the door.
"Esmerelda, what's wrong?" Saradoc asked his shaking, near-tears wife.
"I – I –"she choked. ""I was looking for Merry... I had checked everywhere. I finally checked the –the Old storage closet."
Merry gasped. He hadn't realized that was the closet he and Frodo had been exploring. Everyone knew to avoid that closet at all costs. It was said to be haunted. In fact, no one but troublesome children had set foot into that closet in over a generation, for it was said to be cursed, that whatever you saw within was the truth.
"Now, dear, you know all those rumors about that place aren't true-" Saradoc started, with an odd smile on his lips.
"But they are!! For when I looked in I saw..." she stopped and sobbed hard. "I saw our little Merry. Only he was white. Pure white like a ghost!"
Seradoc said nothing for a moment, then held up a very incriminating piece of evidence: an empty sack of flour.
Another unspoken agreement was met between the cousins, and they bolted from the Hall.
Merry beamed proudly at his cousin. This had, after all the first expedition of his very own plan. He was the one who decided to raid the pantries. True, he hadn't known that the unreadable bag he had grabbed contained flour, and not some secret treat of such magnitude that it had to be kept a secret, but really that was an honest mistake. And, as it turns out, one that left many options open for the rest of the day.
For while Merry was kicking the bag, and generally being angry about his bad luck (the bag had been such a hassle, and turned out to be nothing!), Frodo had disappeared, and returned with as many handkerchiefs as he could find. While Merry watched in utter fascination, Frodo dipped one of the handkerchiefs into the flour, and tied a small amount in. He continued to do this with all the other handkerchiefs he had piled next to the bag, until Merry's curiosity finally burst.
"What are those for?" he asked. Frodo smiled, and threw one of the flour balls at him. It imploded as it contacted Merry's shirt, leaving a large, white mark on his front. This demonstration was enough of an explanation for Merry, as young boys and messy substances rarely need much acquaintance to become fast friends.
"So, who do you propose we use our new weapons on?" Frodo asked, as Merry picked up his share of the flour bombs excitedly.
"I suppose we could wait on one of the stairs and catch people going in and out of the cellar." Frodo shook his head. "Far too difficult, trust me. There's no proper place to hide around there."
"Well... what about the rafters of the stables?"
"There's no one in the stables. Besides, the whole point is to stay indoors, remember?"
Merry sighed. "Well, then I can only think of one other thing." So saying he hurled one of the flour bombs at Frodo's head. "Take that, you filthy troll!" he screamed, then ducked to find a hiding place behind one of the chairs in the sitting room they had found themselves in.
Frodo chuckled. "Oh, so that is how we're playing. Very well..." and he adopted his most troll like position, gave a terrific roar, and pelted Merry with another flour bomb.
The boys continued with their game for a long while, occasionally calling truces to fill up their handkerchiefs with flour. Finally they reached the bottom of the bag, and were again searching for entertainment. This time they decided on a grand quest around the Hall, or the newly dubbed "Brandywine Mountains". Being, of course, big fans of Bilbo's tales, both boys were of the firm conviction that a good adventure would invariably have mountains in it. So that was how it happened that somewhere around the Pass of Musty Old Things (Merry was quite fond of his naming skills), Frodo pulled his companion down among some boulders. Other travelers seemed to be passing by, and there were no guarantees that they were of the friendly variety. They could barely make out the odd tongue and foreign accent, but it sounded strangely like Merry's mother calling him for luncheon.
"Well, my friend," Frodo said in a stage hero voice, making Merry giggle. "Methinks it time to venture home. What say you?"
"Methinks what youthinks, cousin." This sent Frodo to the floor laughing.
"Well then, let us return home, and you can change out of your war stained clothing." Merry seemed to take the worst of the Great Flour War. While Frodo sported the occasional white patch, Merry was covered, head to toe, in the sticky powder. He got up off the floor of the storage closet they had hidden in. But as he did so, two things happened. A bright flash of green tinged lightning lit the room, and the door to the closet opened. There stood his mother, looking terrified. Her mouth began to move, but no sound came out. "Mother?" Merry said. "What's wrong?" Finally, a loud shriek pierced the room, and Esmeralda ran down the corridor.
Without even a word to each other, the two curious young hobbits followed Merry's distraught mother back to the rooms she and her family stayed in, where she started pounding on the door.
"Esmerelda, what's wrong?" Saradoc asked his shaking, near-tears wife.
"I – I –"she choked. ""I was looking for Merry... I had checked everywhere. I finally checked the –the Old storage closet."
Merry gasped. He hadn't realized that was the closet he and Frodo had been exploring. Everyone knew to avoid that closet at all costs. It was said to be haunted. In fact, no one but troublesome children had set foot into that closet in over a generation, for it was said to be cursed, that whatever you saw within was the truth.
"Now, dear, you know all those rumors about that place aren't true-" Saradoc started, with an odd smile on his lips.
"But they are!! For when I looked in I saw..." she stopped and sobbed hard. "I saw our little Merry. Only he was white. Pure white like a ghost!"
Seradoc said nothing for a moment, then held up a very incriminating piece of evidence: an empty sack of flour.
Another unspoken agreement was met between the cousins, and they bolted from the Hall.
